Moment of Peace
by MissingMommy
Summary: King Charlus of Spain has one last request of his long time ally, King Harfang of Portugal. :: Charlus&Harfang friendship.


For Quidditch, round 11, Chaser 3. This is _very_ loosely based around King Charles III of Spain's death in 1788, which is the year it's set in.

Word count: 957

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He should've been more careful, Charlus curses to himself as he lies in his bed. If he would've been more careful, he would've seen the boar in time, and it wouldn't have gotten a piece of his side. He shifts slightly in his bed and groans as pain floods his body. The cream on his side did nothing for the pain nor the smell.

It's been so long that he no longer allows his wife or son into his bedchambers. He doesn't want them to see him like this - pale and weak and sickly. The only people that Charlus sees are healer and guardsmen. He's tired of seeing the four walls of his chambers.

Two guards entered his bedchambers. "My Lord, King Harfang of Portugal is here," one speaks, bowing.

Relief floods his system. He had his Courtier send a letter to Portugal a month ago. Charlus barely has enough energy to wave his hand. "Let him in," he says, his voice weak.

The soldiers salute him and disappear and reappear with a another person. He is only glad the person has long since lost their sense of smell. Charlus waves his guard away. "Leave us," he commands.

The fifty years the man has lived shows on his face in the form of deep lines. His once sunshine hair is now grey and his stomach is rounder than before. But his blue eyes still shine.

They shine like the day that Charlus first met Harfang; the day that he requested an alliance against Britain and the hell that she would bring. He hadn't expected the King of Portugal to agree since he was but a few years into his reign, but Harfang had. And he has had Charlus' back ever since, facing Charlus' enemies as his own.

"Charlus!" he says, his voices echoing loudly. It brings Charlus out of his memories.

Charlus can only grimace at the happiness in his friend's tone. "Harfang, old friend," he wheezes. "Glad you could make it."

Harfang's expression softens. "When I got the letter, I didn't know what to expect. I made the trip as quick as I could. I would've been here days ago, but Callidora insisted that we bring a detail with us."

"She is a smart woman," Charlus acknowledges. "You are King and Queen; you need a proper detail to ensure not only your safety but the safety of your nation."

"You sound like my wife." Harfang laughs as he takes the seat next to Charlus' bedside. "Now, what is it that you wouldn't express in a letter?"

Charlus closes his eyes. "We've been friends since we were young. We've fought together. Our countries are at peace with one another."

"Charlus, what are you getting at?"

Wordlessly, Charlus picks up the blanket. He glances away from his own wound, the smell overwhelming him. The claw wound through his stomach has been festering for days now. He's close to death; he can feel it in his bones. But he was waiting for Harfang to arrive as matters needed to be discussed.

"Dear God, Charlus," Harfang swears, grimacing, "what got a piece of you?"

"A boar while we were hunting," he replies. He returns the covers back to their positions. And he looks seriously at Harfang. "I'm not going to lie to you. I'm dying." His voice shakes a little as he says the last word, because it makes it real. "But I have one last thing to ask of you as my friend."

Harfang nods.

"James is to succeed me after my death."

"He is still but a child," Harfang argues.

Charlus holds his hand up. "James' fifteenth name day is this year. He will soon be a man. You are right; he is but a child. Yet he is the only successor I have. He is young, but he has the makings to be a great King of Spain. I just know it."

"What are you asking?" Harfang leans forward slightly, his hands clasped together. His lips are drawn in a tight line.

"Nothing that you haven't done before," Charlus assures him. "Nurture him. Show him how to be the great King I know that he can be. That's all I ask."

Harfang shakes his head slightly, glancing downward. "There's whispers of war and change coming. I'm not sure if he will take my counsel if provided."

Charlus can feel Harfang's hesitation. They both know what it's like to be newly crowned and eager to prove themselves, and James - like Charlus - is stubborn and determined. "James is young, but I'm sure he knows peace is far more rewarding than war."

There's a long silence that hangs in the air, only being disrupted by Charlus' occasional coughs. Eventually Harfang looks up from his hands. "In the name of our friendship, Charlus, I will provide counsel to James whenever he may need it. Just as I know you would do for Algie."

"Thank you, old friend," Charlus whispers. He coughs harshly. "Let my guardsmen know to bring Dorea and James here. I've kept them away for too long."

Harfang nods. He clasps Charlus shoulder. "It's been a pleasure. I'll see you in the next life."

Charlus repeats the sentiment. And then he watches his long time friend exit his bedchamber.

He secured Portugal's alliance for James, not that he thought Harfang would turn down the offer. It's still important that James has an ally that he can trust when he takes the throne. Someone that will help the young King. And for that, he is grateful. James is too much like himself, but he knows that Harfang will lead his son down the right path.

He closes his eyes peacefully. And he never hears the door open.

A/n - So many thanks to Laura for looking over this for me! She's a dear.


End file.
